by Rita Herron
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vincent followed Clarissa and the sheriff outside, leaving the deputy to man the station.
“Valtrez, check Sadie Sue’s house. I’m going to look around town for her,” Waller said.
Vincent gestured toward his Land Rover, and Clarissa climbed in, knotting her hands in her lap.
“You’ll have to give me directions to where she lives.”
“Go through town and turn left on Greenbriar Road,” Clarissa said. “She has a trailer about a mile up on the left.”
He shifted into gear, wound through the square, the sun nearly blinding him on the curve around the bluff as they left town. Clarissa pointed out a dirt road, and he veered onto it, gravel spewing from his wheels.
“Tell me about Sadie Sue,” Vincent said. “Are you sure she wouldn’t just take off and abandon her kid?”
Clarissa winced. “I don’t think so. She had it rough growing up, and her mother threw her out when she became pregnant. But she loves that baby. She’d never just leave him.” She chewed her bottom lip, then glanced out the window. “You may not approve of how she makes her living, but she’s stripping to give her little boy a better life.”
Vincent tried to ignore the worry in her voice, just as he tried not to notice the way the sun streaked her auburn hair and made it shimmer, and the fine bones of her hands as she stroked her arms.
Vincent spotted the run-down trailer sitting on the hill and turned into the drive. What little grass had survived the heat in the weed-infested yard was brown, and several tree stumps and broken limbs were scattered around the ground from a storm. A Chevy with peeling paint and a dented fender that probably hadn’t run in years was parked in back, weeds overtaking it. A wading pool filled with water and pine needles, a cheap plastic ball, and a worn stroller sat near the sagging porch.
Without speaking, he parked and they climbed out, the sun beating down on his neck as they waded through the weeds to the steps. Clarissa knocked, and a baby’s shrill cry echoed from inside, making him tense.
Children didn’t like him, and he didn’t belong in their innocent world.
The door swung open, and a haggard-looking older woman with Coke bottle glasses stared up at them, the crying baby propped on her ample hip. She smelled like strained peas and sweat and wore the evidence on her baggy housedress.
“Miss Trina,” Clarissa said. “This is Agent Vincent Valtrez from the FBI.”
Trina jiggled the baby, but the more she bounced him, the more he screamed and waved his chunky fists.
“Did you find Sadie Sue?” the woman asked.
“No,” Clarissa answered. “But the sheriff is combing the town looking for her.”
“Can we come in?” Vincent asked.
“Sure.” She gestured toward the entry, and he followed Clarissa inside the cluttered room. The smell of baby formula, dirty diapers, and musty clothing permeated the air. The den was filled with tattered furniture, a TV set with a rabbit-eared antenna, and a playpen full of plastic toys.
“I just can’t seem to quiet Petey.” Miss Trina ran a hand through her tangled hair as she swept aside a stack of laundry piled on the sofa, then gestured for them to sit down. Instead of sitting, though, Clarissa cooed at the baby, clapped her hands softly, and reached for him.
“Come here, sugar. I’m sure Miss Trina’s worn out, and you need some fresh arms.”
Clarissa patted him gently, her voice so soft that it soothed the baby’s screams. Like a woman born with natural mothering instincts, she claimed the rocking chair and hummed a lullaby as she rocked the baby in her arms.
The door screeched open, and Trina rushed to greet Sadie Sue. “Sadie Sue, oh, my word. We’ve been worried sick about you.”
Vincent sized up the young woman immediately. Thick, glossy red hair, big tits showcased by a low-cut black top, and heels that made a man fantasize about screwing her wearing nothing but the stilettos.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. “I had car trouble, but Hadley Crane stopped by and jumped me off.”
He bet the man had jumped her. “Who’s Hadley Crane?”
“He’s the gravedigger at the cemetery,” Clarissa said.
“He has some emotional problems,” Miss Trina added.
“Oh, but he’s harmless,” Sadie Sue said with a wicked grin. She glanced at Clarissa and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you,” Clarissa said.
Sadie Sue rolled her eyes. “You’re just as crazy as your mama and granny. I don’t want you near my son.” She grabbed the baby from Clarissa and clutched him to her chest.
Hurt strained Clarissa’s face, rousing Vincent’s protective instincts, but he refrained from comment.
Clarissa’s premonition had been wrong this time. Sadie Sue hadn’t been missing, hadn’t been attacked by venomous snakes. She had simply been screwing some john.
And just when Vincent was beginning to believe her.
The redhead offered him a tentative smile, and Miss Trina introduced him, her expression changing to interest as she looked him up and down. “I heard there was an agent in town. Didn’t know he looked like you, darlin’.”
Clarissa’s shoulders snapped back as she stood and walked toward the door. “We’re glad you’re all right, Sadie Sue. But next time you might call, especially since three women have died around here in the past few weeks. The sheriff is out hunting for you.”
Her face blanched. “I . . . I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think . . .”
“Forget it. But do call next time.” Clarissa walked through the door and down the steps to the car.
Vincent headed to the door behind her, but Sadie Sue caught his arm. “I’m really sorry, Agent Valtrez. If you want to stop by the Bare-It-All tonight, I’ll give you a free lap dance to make up for your time.”
He pulled away, heat scalding his neck as he descended the rickety steps and crossed the drive to the car. Sadie Sue was damned attractive and had just offered him an out for his sexual needs. Maybe he’d take her up on her offer.
After all, he needed something to distract him from Clarissa.
Seeing her with the child had disturbed him. He didn’t want to like her, but he couldn’t help but admire those protective motherly instincts she had for another woman’s baby.
What would she do if a child of her own were attacked?
The same thing his mother had done—protect him with her life.
Yes, Clarissa was the type of woman who would want a family, who needed one to be complete. Another reason he couldn’t touch her.
But he could sate his hunger with Sadie Sue tonight at the Bare-It-All. A double whammy—he’d question the bartenders and workers for anyone suspicious, a predator hunting down women.
The sooner he caught this killer, the sooner he could leave this hellhole of a town and forget about Clarissa and his past.
Because the longer he stayed here, the stronger his memories were becoming. The more he thought his father’s spirit was still close by. That evil thrived in this town and wanted to own him, just as it had his father.
And the only way to escape the darkness was to leave this place forever.
Clarissa clenched the door handle, swung it open, and climbed in the car, steam oozing from her pores. How dare Sadie Sue leave her son all night without calling, letting everyone worry. How dare she accuse Clarissa of being crazy.
And how dare she blatantly come on to Vincent in front of her child and Miss Trina.
Not that Clarissa cared if the man got it on with Sadie Sue, but he was here on business. And Sadie Sue was a slut.
Vincent slid into the driver’s seat, started the Land Rover, and headed down the graveled drive without speaking.
She’d been so certain that Sadie Sue had died.
He probably thought she was crazy with her visions of snakes. But the images had been so real, she could still see the rattlesnake’s cold scales, the creature slithering across the woman’s
skin. She could still hear her shrill, desperate cry for help.
Had her vision been of another girl dying instead of Sadie Sue?
“What’s wrong, Clarissa? Aren’t you glad that Sadie Sue is safe?”
She bit her lip. “Yes, of course.”
“What do you know about this guy Hadley Crane?”
Clarissa shrugged. “He’s a little odd, keeps to himself. I think he might have suffered a head injury when he was young. As a teenager his mother sent him away for a few months. Rumors were that he had a breakdown.” She paused. “Of course, I don’t always listen to rumors.”
His gaze caught hers. “Meaning there were rumors about me?”
“Yeah, but there were ones about me, too.”
He nodded. “Kids can be cruel.”
Again she felt that connection with him as she had as a child.
Then the moment passed, and he was back to business. “You sense any bad vibes from Crane?”
“You mean, do I think he’s dangerous?”
“Yes.”
She contemplated her answer. “Not really. I’ve heard he takes medication to control his mood swings, but I don’t think he’s bright enough to orchestrate these murders without leaving evidence behind.”
He nodded and lapsed into silence.
But she was curious about where Vincent had been during the years after he’d left Eerie. “What made you decide to join the FBI?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I like to track killers.”
“You were in the military before?”
“Yeah, after juvy.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I heard the foster homes didn’t work out.”
He shrugged off her hand and concern. “Couldn’t blame them for not wanting a kid like me.”
“You deserved better,” Clarissa said.
His jaw tightened as he maneuvered a winding curve and veered onto the road that led to Eloise’s house.
“Let’s drop it and concentrate on finding out what happened to these girls. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Confusion muddled her brain, yet the whisper of the dead girls’ pleas for help reverberated in her head, and she nodded. “Yes.”
The remainder of the ride passed in strained silence. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in her personally.
She had to accept it and forget that she was attracted to him.
All that mattered was that he stop this killer.
Her grandmother had said that the demon could possess a body.
But whose had he taken?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mrs. Canton, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Tracy?” Vincent asked.
Although the temperature in the small unair-conditioned house had climbed to at least a hundred, she cradled a cup of hot tea in her hands as if they needed warming. “No, everyone loved Tracy. She was a sweetheart.”
Clarissa hovered close to Eloise as if she thought the woman might need protection from Vincent. The realization irked him, although he didn’t understand the reason. “Was Tracy dating anyone?”
“Not that I know of.” She blew on the steam rising from the mug. “Although a while back, she went out with that boy Lamont Franklin. He’s a bartender over at Six Feet Under.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “I never did like him much. He and his mama were pure heathens, didn’t believe in going to church.”
“Did Tracy have a journal or diary?”
She shook her head. “No, not since she was a little girl.”
They talked for a few more minutes, but the woman had nothing more to offer. She loved her daughter, thought she was perfect, and repeatedly expressed disbelief that anyone would hurt her. Finally he thanked her, and he and Clarissa left.
“Where is this place, Six Feet Under?”
“Beside the graveyard on the edge of town.”
Why was he not surprised? The diner was named Hell’s Kitchen; they had a bar overlooking a cemetery.
“Let’s stop by and see if that real estate developer is back in town. He owned Tracy’s apartment complex. Then we’ll head to the bar.”
She nodded and gave him directions, and a few minutes later they stopped at the man’s office in the square.
“Simon Thorone,” the man said as he shook Vincent’s hand. “What can I do for you?”
Thorone was in his thirties, five-eleven, medium built, neat hair, wore a sport coat and tie, and his briefcase overflowed with paperwork, files, and blueprints. Seemed legitimate. Nothing stood out as suspicious.
Vincent explained about the investigation and listed the dates of the victims’ deaths. “Where were you on each of these dates?”
Thorone consulted his PDA and showed it to Vincent. “I’ve been out of town for two weeks. Here’s my schedule.”
“You have others who can verify you were with them?”
“A boardroom full,” Thorone said. He whirled around to his computer, printed out the list, and handed it to Vincent. “You can contact the names on this list and they’ll confirm what I just said.”
Vincent nodded and took the list. The man’s confidence either was a show or he was telling the truth.
“What did you think?” Clarissa asked as they climbed in the car and headed to the bar.
Vincent shrugged. “I’ll verify his story.”
“I don’t think he did it,” Clarissa said. “I didn’t sense anything evil about him. Except that he might be making a mint off some of his property.”
Vincent didn’t bother to comment as he made the turn to the bar and parked. The wooden building was a renovated garage, and inside the furnishings were rustic, mostly wooden chairs and picnic-style tables. A few patrons were scattered throughout. Hushed whispers and stares followed them as he made his way to the counter. A short Native American woman with a single braid that hung to her hips greeted him.
He flashed his ID. “I’m looking for Lamont Franklin.”
She gestured toward the steps. “He’s working the rooftop bar.”
Vincent strode upstairs, a hand at Clarissa’s back as she preceded him. The sun had faded, and amazingly, a light breeze ruffled the treetops. Two truckers sat at a table sipping beer and eating burgers, while a young couple shared French fries and tapped their feet to the country tune wailing through the sound system.
Lamont Franklin was midtwenties, around five-eight, and thin, with a tattoo of a snake on his upper arm. His shaggy brown hair brushed his collar, and his beady eyes raked over Clarissa as she approached, as if she was a tall drink of water that he wanted to sip badly.
“What can I get you?”
Vincent propped his hip against the counter. “Some information.”
Lamont scowled. “Gotta order if you want answers.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Scotch, straight up.”
Clarissa smiled. “I’ll have a glass of merlot.”
Lamont grinned at Clarissa. “How about food? We make a mean venison burger.”
Vincent ordered one, while Clarissa chose a chicken sandwich and fries. Then they claimed a table facing the cemetery beneath a giant oak. Several patrons had carved initials into it, announcing they were couples. Vincent almost laughed at the ridiculousness. Love and happily-ever-after did not exist, not in his world.
They sipped their drinks silently, and when Lamont brought their food, Clarissa introduced him. “Lamont, this is Special Agent Vincent Valtrez. He’s investigating the deaths in the area.”
Lamont shifted on the balls of his feet. “Yeah?”
Vincent sipped the scotch. “Tell me about you and Tracy Canton.”
His face contorted. “Tracy? God, I heard about her murder. That was awful.”
“Where were you the night she died?” Vincent asked.
“Working till two. Ask Nina downstairs. We closed together.”
“What happened between you and Tracy?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We went out a coupl
e of times, but her old lady trashed me so much Tracy dumped me.”
“So you were serious about her?” Clarissa asked.
He hung the cloth over his shoulder. “Could have been. But hey, she ain’t the only chick around.”
“Bet you were pissed when she broke it off,” Vincent said.
Lamont frowned at him as if recognizing the underlying accusation. “Not enough to kill her, man. No chick is worth that.”
“So you’re not a violent kind of guy?”
He twisted his mouth sideways. “Well, I wouldn’t run from a fight, but I don’t go around starting them, either.”
“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?” Vincent asked.
“No.”
“Did she date anyone after you?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Actually, I saw her with that deputy a couple of times.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened in surprise. Suspicion roused its ugly head inside Vincent. Bluster hadn’t mentioned he’d been involved with one of the victims. Maybe the reason he didn’t want Vincent asking questions.
“What was Tracy most afraid of?” Clarissa cut in.
Vincent shot her a warning look, willing her to let him conduct the interrogation, but she ignored him.
“I don’t know, but she passed out at the sight of blood. I cut my hand one time on a glass, and she dropped like a rock.” One of the truckers waved that he wanted a refill, and Lamont motioned that he had to get back to work.
Vincent drained his scotch. “Let us know if you think of anything else.”
Lamont nodded, then hurried away, and Vincent dug in to his food.
“Lamont knew her greatest fear, but I don’t think he hurt her,” she said as she plucked a French fry from her plate.
“One of your feelings?”
“Sort of,” Clarissa said quietly. “He just didn’t seem that broken up about her. And I’ve heard he dates a lot.” She paused. “But I still think the killer struck again.”
He clenched his jaw. “Look, Clarissa, I know you’re trying to help here.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”